"Why, Mother, he was simply spoiling for exercise—you know he doesn't get ridden half enough."
"I don't like you to ride him, he's dangerous—"
"Oh, I can manage him, all right, don't you worry!" Jim smiled cheerfully. "But I've got to run out now and see to the pony—he's a bit lame still—"
She let him go, turning away from him and walking to the end of the long room. Yes, he wanted to escape—he had his own life now, was beginning to be a man and to take his secret way, like the rest of them. Her mouth curved bitterly. She did not believe Jim, about the friend—she suspected something else, and she recoiled jealously, miserably.... Yes, her son too—he was like the rest....
She stood by the open window, looking out blindly on the garden. The night was mild, it was moonlight, greenish, like a glowworm's light. The long lace curtains waved inward in the soft breeze. There were sounds of life astir all about. She heard a burst of laughter from the dining-room; then the faint click of the billiard-balls and a shout from Timothy. Then, on the lake, some one began to sing Schubert's boat-song. A clear soprano trilled out joyously the song of love and youth....
A piercing sense of loneliness, of life passing by her, leaving her, stabbed to her very heart. She gave a long, shuddering sigh.... Youth, love—they had passed by. Like the song growing fainter, receding into distance. And the bitter thing was, one did not realize them till they were gone. The sweetness of life—all it was, might have been—one did not feel it till it had slipped away.... Gone, lost—then, in loneliness you felt it....
Some one came into the room. She turned, and at sight of her face, Lavery's gay apology dropped half-spoken. He came and stood beside her at the window.
"I hate music," she said abruptly. "Some one was singing out there. It makes one sad.... It makes one remember all the things—"
"I don't like it myself," said Lavery, when she stopped as abruptly. "Unless it's an opera—with gay dresses, lights, all that—then it distracts you."
"That's trying to shut it out, the sadness of life. Like making merry in a room, shut in, with a storm outside."